What an imaginative programme
– and, moreover, what a finely-performed programme, from Maxim Rysanov and friends!
Four of Bach’s cello works (or, if you must, viola da gamba for two of them):
two solo, one, performed ‘straight’, one transcribed for viola, and two of
those with keyboard performed as trio sonatas. My only gripe might have related
to my unfashionable preference for the piano, but that is not in any sense a
reflection upon Iain Farrington’s alert harpsichord continuo.

The C major Cello Suite was
performed first, by Kristina Blaumane. Her tempi were well-considered; even if
I initially thought the Courante a little on the fast side, I was soon
persuaded. The performance was certainly not rigid. Rubato was applied, yet never
in exaggerated fashion; moreover, there was a nice lilt to Bach’s rhythms. Each
dance was well characterised, leading to a properly climactic yet never
uncharacteristic Gigue, in which Blaumane dug deep into her strings. Hers was a
rich tone, applied sensitively throughout.

The cello and piano (or, if
you prefer, gamba and harpsichord) sonata, BWV 1027, followed. My ears took a
minute or two to adjust to the new sound world of violin, viola, cello, and
harpsichord, but I was swiftly won over. Interestingly, it was Rysanov’s viola,
though not in any sense performed in allegedly ‘period’ style, which offered
the most audible link with the older viola da gamba. Rysanov is, of course, an
excellent violis, but more importantly, an excellent musician. I had the sense,
rightly or wrongly, that these performances were somehow ‘his’ – and I for one
was grateful for that. The opening Adagio
was courtly in character, though it was here that textural busyness most stood
out: more, I suspect, of needing time to adjust to the new forces than anything
else, though I did wonder whether the harpsichord contribution might have been
a little more restrained. A lively yet sturdy second movement ensued, properly
based upon a sound understanding of rhythm and harmonic rhythm. The opening of
the Andante I was a little less sure
about: Dmitri Sitkovetsky’s violin tone was oddly low on vibrato, making for a
glassy impression. Fortunately, it thawed, though we might still have benefited
from a little less parsimony in that respect. The finale offered a wonderful
display of contrapuntal ingenuity, putting me in mind of that to the Sixth
Brandenburg Concerto.

Rysanov opened the second
half with the D major suite, albeit for viola. His was a much easier platform
manner than Blaumane’s; indeed, the way he launched into the opening Prélude
could not help but take an audience with him. He offered a similar lilt and
rubato to the cellist, but with a more brilliant – though certainly never
glossy – tone, which again also managed to evoke in the best way resonances of
older instruments: history refracted, considered, rather than misunderstood as
antiquarianism. (Do the purveyors of so-called ‘Historically Informed
Performance’ realise how little they know of the complexity of the philosophy
of history? A little Hegel, Marx, and Croce, let alone more recent writing,
should be sent their way forthwith.) It was interesting, if perhaps not
surprising, to hear just how different Bach’s music sounded on viola, perhaps
as distant here from the cello as from the violin, yet quite how readily it was
born anew, the first Gavotte being the only case – though I am not entirely
sure why – when I was less convinced by the adaptation. Rysanov offered such an
array of character, whether with respect to different note values or to
different dances, that the choice of instrument seemed beside the point. Repeated
sections were never merely ‘repeated’, yet the difference – that word again –
never sounded as if it were for its own sake, as exhibitionism; it was built
rather upon solid musical understanding, at times drawing one in to moments of
quite breathtaking intimacy. There was wit too, the Courante definitely making
me smile at its suavity. The closing Gigue, even with an occasional
intonational slip, proved wonderfully captivating, indeed almost Bartók-like in
its always-musical excitement.

My ears had no problems then
in adjusting back to the trio sonata set-up for the Sonata, BWV 1029, which
sounded as if it had always been conceived for such forces. Its opening Vivace was imbued with an irresistible
sense of life, likewise the closing Allegro,
most definitely a finale in spirit. The intervening Adagio was again slightly the victim of Sitkovetsky’s odd
withdrawal of vibrato. (It is not as if that were how he played the rest of the
time.) Nor was I terribly enthusiastic about Farrington’s re-employment of the
lute stop. But those were ultimately minor points, given a performance in which
all concerned communicated Bach’s musical argument with such sympathy.